it's getting cold in here, baby
by PoeticallyPathetic19
Summary: How far will Dean go to make sure Sam takes Stanford up on their offer? WINCEST
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I'd almost forgotten about this story! The first chapter switches POVs a few times, but after that it's all Dean. :) Miss. Cinnamon, of course, is my lovely beta!

_I know my heart was cold._

Dean sank forward, forehead against cool metal as he clutched the envelope to his chest. His heart pounded against the piece of paper that could be as insignificant or as significant as Dean let it be. Taking a deep breath he pushed away from the rusting mail boxes of their most recent motel and headed back towards the Impala, intent on confronting Sam- on demanding an explanation from a soon to be shocked younger brother.

An image of Sam's tearstained face and wide, pleading eyes hit him hard, staggering him backwards for a moment as he fought to keep his balance. Sam wouldn't want him to be angry with him, he would do everything he could to make Dean happy-even if that meant sacrificing himself.

Dean didn't want that though. He didn't want Sam's begging or pleading, he didn't want those damned explanations. What he wanted was to never have seen the damn thing, or to have fallen so head over heels for his brother that just looking at Sam made his heart hurt. But he could have that as much as he could keep Sam.

_I'd take back all the things I told you._

Swallowing hard around the lump in his throat he stared down at the envelope clutched in his hand. He knew all its possibilities, all the opportunities it held for Sam and all the pain it meant for him. But what was new about that? He'd lived through pain, he'd conquered it and managed to move on with a smirk and a smartass comment for everything. Pain had prepared him for anything and everything.

Except this.

_I'd trade my soul away for just another day to hold you._

Sam was his bright spot, in a life so full of darkness it was hard to even see himself sometimes and Sam was the one thing that Dean had never counted on having to give up. Why should he? He'd been taking care of Sam since he was a baby. After eighteen years it had just kind of seemed like he'd always be there for Dean to take care of. To love, with or without regret.

_But you're not coming back._

Dean had loved Sam from the moment he'd known his mother was pregnant. He'd been excited where most kids would have been jealous at his younger brother's birth, and he'd kissed

Sam good night every night for those first six months of seeming perfection. His little heart swelling with every glance at his growing brother. Knowing that one day Sam would be able to walk and talk, to look up at Dean and ask him all the things Dean had asked their father and more. The kinds of things that would be just between them. Even at four Dean had known that Sam would be his to care for, it was just an unspoken agreement he'd made with his mother and father when they'd told him about Sam in the first place. He was the older brother and that meant he was responsible for Sam and every bit of happiness or pain he would endure.

After his mother had died that knowledge had been old news to him. He'd already taken responsibility for Sam and now would be no different-except now Dean needed Sam more than

Sam needed Dean. Without Sam, Dean was lost. Sam on the other hand would be prepared for the things Dean hadn't been, because that was part of Dean's responsibility, to make sure Sam hurt as little as possible. So he'd done just that. He'd held Sam's hand and threw a reassuring arm over Sam's much smaller body after every nightmare, and when he was worried over whatever geek boy thing his mind could come up with, Dean was there to reassure him and provide the confidence Sam lacked in the beginning.

Dean had walked Sam to class the first day of school every single year, from kindergarten through his Senior year of High School. The difference was the hand holding stopped in middle school, the hugs in elementary, and the kisses even before then. But reassurance and protection, that was always there. Along with the smirk and quick wit Dean had perfected over the years.

Sam depended on him, loved him, fuck the kid practically worshipped him and Dean had no choice but to adore the once chubby younger brother who could melt him with a single look of those chocolate brown eyes. Still did to this day, even if his love had changed over the years for Sam.

In the beginning he loved Sam like he should, like was expected from someone in their situation. Sometimes he wondered if it was even more than that. Sam had always been his weakness and his strength. But one day he started to realize that the love he felt for Sam was more, was wrong by every definition.

Except Sam's.

He was barely sixteen when he got drunk and told Dean how he felt. Having dragged his staggering younger brother from a party, tight mouthed and furious that Sam could be so stupid as to run off like that without a word-and to get shitfaced of all things. Sam's pleas for Dean to talk had soon turned to angry tears and half shouted shots at Dean's solider like perfection. They fought, Dean caved, and in his attempts at comfort he had found a confused and desperate teenager in his lap. Wide eyes, tear stained cheeks, and hoarse confessions of love, of shame, and regret for forcing this onto Dean.

What else could he do but confess the same? How could he let Sam hurt over the same things Dean felt? It just didn't make sense and every thought of _wrongsickfuckdirtybad_ disappeared with Sam's inhibitions. 

For two years they'd been together, and every second felt better than the next since that first drunken confession.

_The dirt's already past,_

_The skies have turned to black again._

Until now.

Sam had some extracurricular thing or other at school, not that Dean didn't monitor Sam's whereabouts almost obsessively, he just didn't need to know what geek boy was up to as long as he knew where he was. So Dean was killing time until he had Sam back in his arms, figured he'd check the mail since Sam seemed so impatient to get something and was as tightlipped as ever about it, only to find an oversized envelope crammed into the too tiny mailbox. Stanford fucking University stamped across in big letters, left hand corner. Samuel Winchester in tiny black print peeking through the cellophane window. And Dean's finger impressions at the ends where he'd gripped it in his sickened state of shock and confusion.

_Its too late to regret._

One damn envelope that took eighteen years of life and two years of fucking perfection right out of him.

Stanford fucking University. _That_ was what Sam wanted. Two years ago it had been Dean, but now it was Stanford fucking University. It was normal, it was possibilities. It was so not Dean. 

"Fuck," he whispered, closing his eyes tightly and trying to force his heart back into his chest. Sam had made a decision and Dean had to respect that. Had to _push that_. He wouldn't be Sam's reason for unhappiness, he wouldn't hold Sam back, wouldn't let Dad hold Sam back despite the screaming urge to do so. 

Dean turned on his heel, heading for the mailboxes once again before he had a chance to think things over and be selfish like he damn well wished he could be. Unlocking it with a violent flick of his wrist, he shoved the envelope back in with every piece of untouched mail that still sat inside, and locked it up with his heart.

_Cause you already left._

Sam had made his decision and so had Dean.

Moving stiffly and deliberately, Dean threw himself behind the wheel of the Impala and floored it out of the parking lot before he had yet another chance to change his mind. The temptation to throw it out or break Sam with him was too tempting and Dean's will was only so strong. The longer he thought about it, the more he ached for Sam's touch, his comforting words, the weaker Dean became and the darker Sam's future looked. Only growing brighter with every inch of distance he put between himself and the acceptance letter from hell.

_It's too late to hold on._

He drove for what felt like hours, tape deck blasting and the window rolled down, until he couldn't stop the tears from falling. He didn't even realize he was crying at first, until his vision got blurry and salty tears hit his lips, tongue unthinkingly drawing in the bitterness he'd been harboring since he'd opened the mail box and found the acceptance letter.

Dean drove like that, telling himself it was nothing and that he was stronger than this, until he had to pull over for fear of wrecking his car and giving Sam every reason to stay. Blinded by hot tears and uncertainty as he slammed the door shut and hit the pavement with a dull thud. He drew his knees up, his head hanging between his legs and gasping for air. Who was he kidding? He wasn't stronger than this. He didn't know how he was supposed to deal with losing Sam or the life they were slowly building for themselves.

He snorted at the absurdity of that thought and let his head fall back against the Impala. Building a life for themselves? All they were doing was sneaking away from Dad to be with each other and playing house when Dad was away. Nothing was changing. They were still hunting, Dad and Sam were still fighting, and Dean was still in the middle. Each wanting a little more of him than the other until they'd taken everything Dean had left.

Which after today, Dean was pretty sure would be next to nothing-if he was lucky.

_Because you're already gone._

At least then the pain would be a distant memory, a phantom ache to match. He took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. He had to get it together or Sam would know something was up, and the minute he set eyes on the acceptance letter he'd know. Then there would be no turning back for either of them.

Glancing at his watch he pushed to his feet and climbed back into the Impala. It was almost time to pick Sam up from school and his brooding would have to wait until he got a chance to run for the nearest bar. It wouldn't be long. He knew what he had to do now and all that was left was to make it through one more car ride with Sam without punching him square in the mouth like he wanted.

Just one last car ride.

_I don't know how I will carry on._

xXx

Sam shifted nervously, checking and rechecking his watch till it got to the point that even the school's resource officer took an interest in him. It wasn't that unusual for students to be found roaming the halls after hours. There were always club meetings or projects due, even the occasional pack of kids that just weren't ready to give their time up. What _was_ unusual was for a student to be so anxious about leaving school when he'd already been there for an extra two hours. 

The resource officer pulled up alongside Sam, leaning over just far enough to be in view. He had short cropped dirty blonde hair and pale blue eyes, his grin genuine. "You okay, son?" he asked.

Sam leaned down and tried to ignore the way his stomach flip flopped. It wasn't like he hadn't dealt with the police on several occasions before, and in more compromising positions than this, but today he was on edge. He had a nasty feeling that something was coming, he just couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Yeah," he said, letting out a heavy breath that fluttered his bangs. "Just waiting on my brother."

The man laughed and nodded. "I know how that is."

Sam smiled. "He's usually here before me, but today…" he broke off, his voice turning worried. There was no reason to pull, Sam glanced up at the man's nametag, Officer O'Neil into his unfounded assumptions. "Probably ran into some blonde," Sam quickly amended, smiling a little brighter. "Typical, Dean," he joked.

Officer O'Neal laughed again and shook his head. "I know how that is too. You sure you're okay, son? You look a little upset."

"Tired," he reassured O'Neil. "Long day, tough tests. I bet you know how that is too."

O'Neil nodded sympathetically and checked his own watch. "How late is your brother?"

Quickly guessing where this line of questioning was going, Sam waved a hand dismissively. "Not even twenty minutes. I'm good."

The officer hesitated a second and then glanced back at his own watch. He was genuinely concerned for Sam, but he clearly had somewhere else he needed to be. Which was more than fine with Sam.

"Really," he insisted. "I'm fine. He'll-" The roar of the Impala interrupted Sam and with a sigh of relief he smiled at the officer and gave him a brief wave. "He's here now."

Sam made a quick exit, the feeling that something was wrong gone for the moment at the sight of his brother pulling up next to him. He pulled open the door and climbed in, grinning from ear to ear. It was a stupid school girl reaction, and Dean teased him about it constantly, but it wasn't like Sam did it on purpose. Something took over inside of him whenever he saw Dean, his heart beating double time and his breaths coming in short spurts. It was nothing compared to the reaction he had when Dean actually spoke to him, let alone called him Sammy or baby.

Dean could tease him all he wanted, but he loved those reactions and they both knew it. Eventually Dean's own smirk would break out across his face and there was no hiding it, or denying that even the great Dean Winchester couldn't control his feelings 24/7.

_I feel your body near._

Only today there were no taunts, no reciprocating smirk. Dean didn't even look his way. Green eyes firmly locked on the road in front of him as he pulled slowly out of the parking lot, flooring it the second they were around the corner and away from Officer O'Neil's watchful gaze. Frowning, the fear returning to the pit of his stomach, Sam turned in his seat. He pushed his books to the floor and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.

Dean was upset about something and his silence was only going to last so long, and then Sam was sure there'd be yelling. And lots of it if Dean's silence was any indication now. The storm was slowly building inside his brother, and Sam was more than prepared for it this time around. After two years he'd learned to interpret Dean's moods pretty well, and every which way to diffuse them. Which wasn't to say he didn't frequently screw it up, just that he was used to it.

The silence stretched on, their dilapidated house less than ten minutes away and Sam was growing more and more impatient with every passing house. Once home there was no way for them to have it out with Dad around, and then Sam would be doomed to days-and worse nights- of Dean's cool indifference, with no idea of what he'd done wrong this time.

_I close my eyes and hear you call me._

"Are you going to talk to me?" Sam asked quietly, too sick of silences and Dad to put up with another one. "At least tell me what I did wrong?" Dean glanced over at him then, his moss green eyes glittering with unshed tears. Sam scooted closer, taking in the red rimmed gaze he'd failed to notice in all the time he'd spent staring. "Dean?"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Sammy," Dean assured him.

"Then what's wrong?" Sam demanded. He was trying his best not to panic, but with Dean's silence and tearstained face-God, how had he not noticed any of this before?-it wasn't easy to keep it from bubbling over.

Dean shook his head and returned his eyes to the road. "Nothing."

It wasn't nothing. His brother's voice was empty, his movements stiff like he was on autopilot, and all of that screamed something.

I swear your voice is real.

"Dean!" Sam snapped. "What's _wrong_?" Now wasn't the time for Dean and his too cool for emotions routine. Whatever had happened must have been bad to get his brother so upset, and Sam was going to drag it out of him if it was the last thing he did. 

Sam wrapped his hand around Dean's arm, fingers squeezing gently, imploring Dean to talk to him, to say _anything_, so long as it wasn't nothing. Dean jerked away as if he'd been burned, quickly pulling the car off to the side of the road. The next thing Sam knew Dean's mouth was crashing down over his in a desperate kind of apology. Tongue pleading entrance as Sam tried to get his thoughts together. He gave that up just as quickly with a soft moan from Dean-who needed thoughts when his brother could kiss like that? 

_I reach my hand to feel you draw me._

Breaking the kiss as suddenly as it had started, Dean pulled him closer, fingers tangling in Sam's hair. "I love you," Dean said fiercely, eyes locked with Sam's. "You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah," Sam breathed, his head still spinning from the kiss. He'd always known that. "I love you, too, Dean."

_When I look around,  
You're nowhere to be found._

Dean nodded once, searching Sam's eyes for something he was sure his brother would never admit to and pressed a chaste kiss to Sam's lips. With a gentle nip, Dean released him and pulled back onto the road without another word.

Sam brought a hand up to his tingling lips and sank back into the seat, doing his best to sort through what had just happened, and Dean's words. It wasn't the first time he'd heard that from Dean, but it was the first time it had come out of nowhere and the first time that Dean had ever asked for Sam's belief in it.

_You've left without a sound again._

xXx

Kissing Sam earlier had been stupid, telling Sam he loved him had been even worse. Wasn't what he was about to do supposed to convince Sam otherwise? Make him believe that he meant next to nothing to Dean? Or that as much as Dean cared for Sam, it just wasn't love-at least not enough?

It was easy to think that was the best way to solve things, even easier to plan it that way, but it was the only thing in this world that Dean couldn't do. For all the lies he'd told over the years and all the lies he was about to unload on Sam, that just wasn't one he could handle.

Groaning at the lack of will power he had when it came to Sam, Dean silenced his ringing cell phone and sank down onto the bed. He needed some time to think, to make sure that what he was doing was right.

He wanted to give Sam the future he obviously wanted, and the fear that had surged through him at the sight of Sam talking to his school resource officer had only reminded him that at Stanford, at Sam's choice of future, he would never have to face that, would never have to feel the same fear Dean had felt in that instant. There would be no reason to fear the police then. Sam would be living his life the right way, not running scams and hustling. He'd be going to class, making friends, and having a life. A _real_ life that Sam was always longing for. 

How could there be any doubt in Dean's mind that this was the right thing to do? How could he be so selfish as to wish Sam locked up in a life he so clearly doesn't want? Only Sam had made sure to tell Dean that he was what Sam wanted too. He didn't let any opportunity slip by him to tell Dean how he felt, much to Dean's embarrassed pleasure. It was always _I love you_, no matter what else was going on around them. 

Dean could only hope that what Sam was about to walk in on would cure him of every feeling he'd ever had for Dean, because if it didn't, Dean didn't know if he had it in him to push Sam away again.

He glanced over at the sleeping girl beside him, the sheets pulled up around her, exposing only bare shoulders. Her curly blonde hair obscured the features he knew so well by now, knew Sam would recognize without hesitation. The small sweet mouth and bright blue eyes that challenged you as much as they welcomed you.

Emily was one of the few people that both brothers had let into their lives, but it had been hard to keep her out when her father was a hunter like theirs. Their visits may have been few and far between but it was impossible not to love this girl. She knew every secret they'd always had to keep from school friends and anyone else they'd ever met, and never looked at them like they were freaks, or anything more than what they were. Two of a kind.

Sam may have been able to overlook this if it was someone they didn't know. A waitress from town, some girl from school or bar Dean had talked his way into. But not Emily, not someone they both trusted, had grown up with. How could he possibly forgive something like that?

His heart sped up at the sound of his brother's footsteps outside the door. He still had time, thirty seconds or so maybe, to change his mind, to make things right and just own up to Sam. Thirty seconds to keep his life from falling apart.

_It's too late to regret._

Thirty seconds that went by before Dean could do anything but die inside, taking Sam right along with him.

Dean willed himself to stay silent as he stared up into Sam's all too trusting face. He watched it crash, the realization of Dean's actions sinking in for him. Wide chocolate brown eyes tracking his every breath, then sinking like Dean's stomach. Sam opened his mouth, then closed it. Repeat- like a broken record, until Sam's eyes resigned with his heart to the knowledge that this wasn't something he could fix or pretend hadn't happened. This moment was all to real and all too definite.

_Cause you already left._

He bit down on his tongue, salty copper filling his senses in a sweet sort of reprieve from the piercing sadness in his younger brother's eyes. This was for Sam's own good he told himself over and over again, his heart and his stomach fiercely disagreeing with his mind. It wasn't for Sam's own good to hurt him, or to betray him. There were other ways, other options, but Dean was stubborn and this had to work. Sam had to get this, he had to understand, and this was the only way Dean knew that would ensure Sam's making the right decision. It was the only thing he could think to make Sam walk away when they meant everything to each other.

_It's too late to hold on._

Sam gave a brief nod and then backed out of the room without a word, leaving Dean to his regrets. Breathing a sigh of relief and anguish, he sank back onto the bed. He wouldn't see Sam again. He'd go back to the motel in the morning to find Dad, clueless and angry. Unsuspecting of either son and the full extent of the betrayals that had taken place in their motel room, or the one, two rows down that they had rented in order to get away from Dad. Something that had been an increasing thing the past few months the closer they grew, until they'd finally reached the breaking point and come full circle from desperate need to desperate hate. Because that's what Sam had to be feeling now, a desperate sort of hate for the way Dean had thrown him away-at least in Sam's mind.

_Because you're already gone._

He'd never know what Dean had done for him, and that was just fine with Dean. He didn't need Sam's excuses or reasoning to stay with Dean, to make things work when they shouldn't even exist. Not in this way. What Dean needed was Sam to be happy, to be normal and free from everything he so clearly hated and resented-because Dean wasn't ready to fall into that category, now or ever.

_I don't know how I will carry on.  
I don't know how I will carry on._


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I meant to update this forever ago! Sorry! Miss. Cinnamon is the wonderful beta who makes all this possible for me!

Dean hurriedly threw his clothes on and pressed a quick kiss to Emily's cheek in thanks. She smiled sadly up at him, knowing what he'd done for Sam but blessedly said nothing. He gave

Sam a good thirty minutes before even moving from the bed, hoping it was enough time for him to make a decision, or even better to get the hell out before Dean opened his big mouth and begged for Sam's forgiveness.

He let himself out of what used to be _their _motel room, and was now Emily's, to find Sam waiting outside the only one Dad knew about. He was sitting with his back against the wall, knees drawn up and staring blankly out into the parking lot.

Dean only a hesitated a second before reaching for the door. Babying Sam would only counteract what pain he'd just inflicted on Sam for his own good. He had to play it cool and detached if he wanted this to work. His fingers had barely closed around the knob, when Sam shifted and caught Dean's attention.

"What changed?" he asked softly, glancing up from his place on the ground. His cheeks were tearstained, eyes rimmed red and puffy, but the crying was over.

"Nothing," Dean lied. The only thing that had changed in this relationship was Sam. Dean was content to live this life, with Sam curled up beside him, nuzzling at his shoulder in his sleep until they grew old and eventually died. Preferably himself before Sam.

"Why?" Sam asked, face scrunching up in confusion.

"No reason." _Besides Stanford._

"Something must have changed, I must have done something. If you'd-" Sam jumped to his feet, blocking Dean from the door as he stepped forward. "Dean," he pleaded. "Just talk to me. Tell me what's going on!"

"Nothing," Dean shrugged, trying to shoulder his way past Sam. They didn't need to be making a scene in the parking lot. They were going to be there for a few more days, Dad and Dean at least, and he didn't want to draw anymore attention to them then need be.

"Nothing?" Sam repeated furiously. "You fucked Emily! That's not nothing. You said…" his voice trailed off, shaky with unshed tears. "You said you loved me."

Dean's gut clenched, his throat constricting. He did love Sam. He loved Sam more than air. This was all for his own good, Dean had to keep reminding himself. Every hurtful word, every hurtful action was to give Sam something more. Something better.

"So?" Dean retorted. "You said the same, but that didn't stop you from applying to Stanford, did it Sammy boy?" Dean rolled his eyes, scoffing softly at the shock on Sam's face and took a step forward, infringing on Sam's personal space. "Leaving doesn't say much for your love, does it, baby?" he purred, nipping at Sam's jaw on a selfish impulse.

"Dean," Sam choked out. "You don't-"

"I understand perfectly," Dean interrupted. "You're the one that doesn't understand, Sam. It's over."

Dean shouldered past him, too weak to stick around and watch the betrayal fill his brother's eyes again. To watch the silent tears streaking baby soft cheeks and down his trembling jaw. He blinked back his own tears and headed into the motel like nothing had happened.

Dad came home an hour later, Sam three hours later. There were no signs of tears, no sign of anything but his usual annoyance with Dad. They fought over nothing and Sam made sure to keep his gaze and his words completely from Dean.

In the end, Sam went to bed early and in a huff. Never once directing his attention to Dean. And that's how it went for the next few days until Dad found them a new place, twenty miles north of where they'd been last. Worried that the neighbors were fed up with all the arguing and it would make it that much easier to identify them should something happen.

"I wasn't going to leave without you, you know," Sam said softly one night.

Dad was out of town on a job, leaving Dean to watch over Sam because the geek boy still had school. Neither had been too keen on staying home alone, but they hadn't had much choice either. How were they supposed to explain their sudden disgust with each other to Dad without spilling everything?

"What?" Dean asked, glancing away from the baseball game he'd been pretending to watch for the past hour. Without Dad around there wasn't much to do or say, not that there ever was.

"Stanford," Sam clarified. "I never would have gone without you."

"Sammy," Dean choked. He stared at Sam, not sure what to do with that little bit of information. That tiny bit of beyond significant information that he could have used from the beginning to avoid breaking his own heart and Sam's. "I didn't think…"

"Yeah," He interrupted. "You never do, Dean." Sam's gaze turned hard, the once soft and open expression he'd directed at Dean, gone. "You do whatever you think is right, but you never consider how it's going to affect anyone else, or how much it will hurt."

"Just wait a damn minute," Dean protested in anger. Not all of what Sam said was true. Dean did think about how it would affect other people, that was the whole damn reason he'd let Sam catch him with Emily. It was all for Sam's own good.

"Worse," Sam went on as if he hadn't said a thing. "You never think of how much it's going to hurt you." Sam stood up then and crossed the room, knocking Dean back against the headboard with a gentle shove. He straddled Dean's legs, a hand falling to his waist, and the other cupping the back of Dean's neck.

"Sam," he tried. "C'mon, man." It hurt too much to let Sam do this. It hurt more to let Sam think what had happened with Emily, had actually happened, but that was a matter Dean didn't have much choice in. This he did. "I'm sorry things ended the way they did, but it's over."

"You gonna tell me you don't miss this?" Sam demanded softly, his mouth hovering over Dean's. "Because I do," he added before Dean had a chance to answer or protest his actions. "I miss everything. The way you feel, the way you taste." Sam stroked a thumb along his jaw, Dean's heart slamming painfully against his ribcage. He missed all of that and more. "I miss you talking to me."

Sam's lips met his in a chaste kiss, then he was gone. Standing up from the bed and moving away from Dean without a word. He watched the slump of his brother's shoulders, the unfamiliar sight of defeat in someone as stubborn as Sam, and felt his stomach twist, a sour taste in his mouth.

He wanted to go after Sam, but he didn't know if he should, if it would make a difference. Or if maybe he could beg Sam to go to Stanford, because Sam was wasting his life there.

Chasing the things he didn't want to, with people he didn't want to be with and for what? To get back at Dean? To prove that Dean hadn't broken him? Well that was great, Dean didn't want to break Sam. What he wanted was Sam to go to Stanford, to live up to every potential he knew was in his brother.

Going after Sam though was risky. A fistfight was almost inevitable, and with Dad gone there was no buffer. That'd be like rubbing salt into open wounds. That is, if Sam even stuck around after. His other option was to lay there on the bed and go back to his baseball game, the one he hasn't been paying attention to since the movie he wasn't paying attention to switched over. Let Sam think what he wanted and hope he got sick of trying to prove something to Dean. That his desires would outweigh Dean.

Only they didn't.

Dean took option number 2 and settled back against the headboard, trying to ignore the sting in his heart, the tremble in his jaw, and the tingling in his lips. Sam let him forget, went back to his laptop and didn't say a damn thing much to his surprise and chagrin. Didn't say a damn thing for the next two days either, or the next two, or the next, until finally Dean was ready to snap. He was so high strung and twitchy he had to stop drinking his coffee by the end of the first week. Even decaf was wreaking havoc with him. If it wasn't lying awake all night listening to Sam breathe, it was staring at him constantly till it got to the point that Dean didn't even care if Sam knew it.

He was pretty sure Sam was starting to get fed up too, shooting dirty glances Dean's way whenever he caught him staring. Then deliberately turning away from him. But he never said a damn word. The only relief he had was when Sam was in school, those eight hours of peace the only think keeping him sane with Dad away.

Dad came back half way into the second week, a little bruised but nothing more. Sam didn't say anything as he trudged into the motel room, didn't even look up. Dad didn't seem to notice and everyone went on with their lives while Dean went crazy as silently as possible.

Eventually Dean stopped speaking as well, missing the sound of Sam's voice and finding that if he just didn't speak, didn't move, that sometimes he could still hear it. Could feel the heat of Sam's breath against his neck as he laughed softly and reminded Dean that it was okay to do more than fuck. That it didn't make him a freak or a girl.

No, it was the fucking that made him a freak. Not the wanting to make Sam happy, not even wanting to hug his younger brother sometimes. It was definitely the fucking that made him a freak. Dean just wasn't comfortable with the whole feelings thing, and even for Sam sometimes he couldn't get what he wanted out.

Two weeks went by, then two more before Dad noticed that neither of his sons had said a word, in, well, weeks. Dean was a little surprised that Dad had even noticed, but he suspected it was the fact that Dad was knee deep in research and wanted the help.

"All right," Dad sighed heavily and pushed out of his chair. "What's with you two?"

Sam gave a shrug, not looking up from his place on the other bed, book obscuring his features. Dean mimicked the action from the other bed, his gaze locked on the T.V. He wasn't even sure what he was watching, just knew that it was better than talking.

"Dean," Dad pushed. "What's going on?"

He sighed and looked at Dad, resigning himself to the fact that the conversation wasn't going to drop until someone other than Dad spoke. "Nothing," he croaked. His voice weak from disuse and anything but convincing.

"Then why aren't you two talking?" Dad challenged. "To me, or each other?"

Dean shrugged again. What could he tell Dad? If he brought up Stanford it would only turn into a screaming match, and then what? It wouldn't make Sam leave, it'd only make him more determined to stay. To prove Dad and Dean wrong. It would only hurt Sam a little more, and this time needlessly.

"Dean!" Dad ordered, his voice stern and holding no room for argument. "Explanation."

"Don't feel like talking," Dean answered flippantly. His eyes drifted to Sam then, his brother's book lowered, eyes peeking out curiously. Dean was never disrespectful to Dad, nothing less than his solider. But there was a first time for everything. "Nothing worth saying anymore." Never had been unless it was _Sammy,_ or _I love you._

Sam's cheeks flushed at the obvious comment, his eyes tearing up. But for once Dean didn't look away, he didn't pretend like all of it had meant nothing. Like they had meant nothing.

He stared openly at Sam, well aware of Dad looking from Dean to Sam and back again. Well aware of the fact that what he was doing was stupid, but honest. He'd burnt his bridges for a reason.

"Sam?" Dad tried quietly, watching his youngest as tears slid down his cheeks.

"Yeah," Sam whispered. "Hasn't been for a long while." He blinked back his tears, and returned his nose to his book. Leaving the conversation to Dad and Dean.

"Yeah," Dean agreed and followed Sam's example, turning his attention back to the T.V.

Dad stood there for a few minutes, glancing back and forth between them before sighing and shaking his head as he returned to the table. He picked up his journal again, throwing one last glance at his boys before burying his nose back into his own book and leaving the two of them to their quite discontent.

Dean waited until he was sure both his brother and his father were completely absorbed in their own things before letting his eyes fall close. A heavy weight settling over him with the silence and crack of the bat as the pitcher let one fly. Crowds of screaming people filled his ears and suddenly it was too much. The only sounds he ever heard from the outdated television in their room.

He jumped off the bed and crossed the room in three quick strides, jerking open the motel door with enough force to gain both his brother and his father's attention. He ignored them and let the door swing shut behind him, long legs carrying him out to the parking lot.

The sun was going down, casting shadows in every direction. He sank back against the Impala's trunk, gazing up at the sky, painted in pastel pinks and oranges, the faint trace of blue behind it. There was something in that moment of stillness, of complete silence and solitude that made everything all the more real.

He and Sam were done. Any hope of making things work had disappeared the second Sam had caught him with Emily, even once Sam was done with Stanford, and there was no going back from that. A strangled sob escaped him and he let his head drop, let the tears flow freely. The parking lot was empty and even if it wasn't, what did he care?

The only good thing in his life was less then twenty feet away, nose buried in a book and spread out on the bed in a way that a few weeks ago he would have found as adorable and downright fuckable. Would have made his skin tight and his heart flutter, wishing that Dad was anywhere but there. Even down the street, with only five minutes to get Sam off. But it would be worth it just to hear him breathe out Dean's name, pant and fucking beg for Dean to touch him. Now though, it only made his heart hurt and his head spin at how easily, how quickly he'd fucked things up. Even with Sam giving him a second chance. 

He didn't hear Sam come up next to him, didn't notice him until the concerned "Dean?" was croaked out. Voice worse than Dean's from the extra two weeks of silence.

His head snapped up and he quickly sniffled, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes. He turned to Sam, pretending that his face wasn't swollen and red, his eyes puffy from tears.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and gave Sam his best smile.

"Hey, Sammy," he greeted. "Something wrong?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "Want to tell me what it is?"

Dean snorted, his mouth lifting in a half smile. Typical Sam, getting straight to it. "I don't know, you're the one that came out here to talk after weeks of nothing. Not even a 'hey' every now and then."

"Stalling?" Sam pointed out. "Is just annoying. I'm gonna keep asking until you talk. So why don't you save us both some time and some patience and answer me."

"Yeah, well, that's not gonna happen, Sam." Dean pushed away from the Impala. "So why don't _you_ save us both some time and a lot of patience, and get on that bus." _Maybe save some of my sanity along the way too_, Dean added silently.

Sam made a sound of disgust and stepped in front of Dean to block his path. "I'm not going," Sam said slowly. "Pretty sure I told you that."

Dean shrugged and made to go around Sam. "Whatever." Sam would get tired of this eventually, he had to, it was already driving Dean insane, and then he'd leave. He'd get on that damn bus like Dean told him to, and one day Sam would be thanking him. That is, if he ever talked to Dean again at all.

"No," Sam snapped, forcing Dean back a step. "Not whatever." His eyes glinted dangerously, the stubborn tic that both brothers shared, making his jaw a sharp line. "Talk to me."

"Done that, Sam." Dean reached a hand out to rest against Sam's chest and push him back just enough for Dean to escape. "You just don't listen."

Sam's hand closed over his, holding it firmly against Sam's chest. "You don't talk," he countered.

Dean stared at their hands, the beat of Sam's heart pounding furiously underneath his. Sam's unnatural warmth radiating from his hand and chest, making it's way up Dean' s arm until his whole body felt like it was on fire.

"Talk to me for once," Sam suggested.

"And tell you what?" he asked, not lifting his eyes. "That I'm tired? Because I am, Sam. I'm so God damn tired." Sam stepped forward, crowding him against the Impala. Their bodies brushing, hips perfectly aligned in the way Dean had been forcing himself to forget and failing miserably as they shifted against him innocently.

"So am I," Sam whispered. "So just stop running."

And like that he remembered where he was and why he shouldn't be there. "I'm not running from anything." He jerked his hand free from Sam's. He wasn't running from anything, just pushing Sam towards something in a backwards sort of way.

"Fooled me," Sam said coolly. The warmth and pleading gone. "You're out here crying alone, won't talk to your own brother. You're running from something. Or someone," he added quietly.

"Just tired," Dean reassured him, his stomach sick with guilt. A few weeks ago this had seemed like the perfect idea, the perfect way to give Sam his future, and now it was only hurting them both.

Sam reached out a hand, thumb swiping at a stray tear sliding down his cheek. "Me too."

Dean pressed his face into Sam's hand, allowing himself one last moment of rightness before slipping out from between Sam and the car. He'd barely made it to the driver's side when Sam called after him.

"Just tell me one thing, Dean," Sam asked. "Do you miss it? Us?"

He forced back a soft snort and shook his head. Sam had to ask him that? Of course he missed it, missed them. It was all he ever thought about, all he ever dreamt about. Did Sam really think that if he was over him, he'd make Sam sleep with Dad?

"Everyday," he admitted. He glanced over his shoulder at Sam, making sure he got this. "But that's life." And there was more to it, than his being happy. Mainly Sam's future.

Dean headed back to the motel, ignoring the slump of his brother's lanky body against the cool black metal. It hurt like hell to say it, couldn't imagine how it felt to hear it, but knew it needed to be said. Missing something, wanting something, didn't make it right and it didn't mean they'd ever get it back.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Oh, my God! It's been FOREVER! I'm soooo sorry. I've been completely into a new fic of mine that I've been working on it nonstop as best I can. I suddenly realized that I hadn't updated, so here I am. Begging for forgiveness! Miss. Cinnamon is my beautiful beta, and I hope I make her proud.

He stripped down to his boxers and climbed underneath the sheets as Dad watched him curiously. He pulled his pillow over his head and waited to hear the motel door open again with Sam's entrance and the soft click as he closed it with as much regret as Dean had closed the door on them.

The sound didn't come and soon he was drifting off. When Dean woke again the room was dark, the T.V. the only light in the room. Rubbing his eyes, he looked towards the other bed, expecting to see Dad or Sam watching it, maybe both. But the bed was empty, the sound of the shower kicking on a few seconds later.

He frowned and sat up a little more, wondering if somehow he'd missed his brother or his father, but the room was empty except for himself. His hands were on the covers, about to throw them back when the motel door opened softly. He watched as Sam peaked his head in, glancing around for Dad. He was out past curfew and they both knew it by the relief that washed over him.

Sam stepped into the room, shutting and locking the door behind him. He started to shrug off his jacket, his eyes falling on Dean, and he froze. He licked his lips nervously and tore his gaze away as he finished taking off his jacket. He threw it over the chair and reached for the hem of his t-shirt.

Dean couldn't take his eyes off of Sam as the shirt inched up, revealing tanned skin. _Soft, sweet_ tanned skin, that at one time Dean had kissed and licked until they were both aching. The shirt lifted up a bit more, exposing his stomach, then his chest. Next were his jeans that already hung low off his hips, the familiar tan line greeting Dean's hungry gaze as Sam kicked them off.

He finally dragged his eyes from Sam's body, fully aware of the erection tenting his boxers. He shifted uncomfortably, fingers twitching, eager to take himself in hand and get off right then and there, with Sam unaware until the sharp _'Sammy'_ broke the silence, and glanced up to find Sam watching him. Tongue peeking out from between parted lips. Full, parted lips Dean could practically taste.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was jerking off his boxers desperately. Grasping his leaking cock, he tugged gently, watching as Sam's tongue made its way over his lip and then back into his sweet mouth. Dean stroked himself harder, Sam's gaze going liquid as he realized what Dean was doing. He bit down on his lip, his breathing growing labored with every pump of Dean's fist.

"I want," Sam panted. "I want to see you."

Dean nodded, throwing back the covers as he squeezed the base of his dick to keep from coming right then at the sound of Sam's desperate voice. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was a voice telling him he shouldn't be doing this. That they were over, but the heat in Sam's gaze was too much to ignore. 

"Oh, God," Sam moaned, his hand sliding between his legs to palm his own dick. "So beautiful. You're so beautiful, so fucking _perfect_."

Dean's hips jerked at the idea of watching Sam get himself off from where he stood and it was everything he could do to keep from hauling Sam into bed with him and swallowing his damned words. That was Dean's department, affectionate and honest only when it was the two of them like this. He couldn't be that now though, and Sam knew it.

It didn't change the fact though that he was there and he was touching himself because of Sam, wanting more and more with each stroke to watch Sam do the same thing. Before he could stop himself, his mouth was opening and the words were spilling out. "Do it," Dean ordered softly. The first words he'd said since they'd started this game. "C'mon, Sammy."

He watched as Sam pushed his boxers down around his feet, fisting himself tightly. He moved his hand in time with Dean's, his gaze drifting back and forth between Dean's eyes and the show going on between his legs, like he couldn't decide which he wanted to see more.

Dean bit back a groan, wanting to close his eyes and pretend that this wasn't happening, that this was one of his sick fantasies, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Too engrossed in the slick slide of Sam's hand on his cock, the soft pants and whines Sam had never been able to control with him before.

Sam's hips stuttered, a breathless Dean, and he was coming in short hot spurts across his fingers and belly. He gasped out Sam's name and watched as a second later Sam's own orgasm took over. His knees shaking, a high, needy whine escaping before Sam could capture his lower lip between his teeth.

Dean lay there, relearning how to breathe his fingers sticky with the proof of his need for Sam, and too spent to realize the shower had stopped until a sharp _fuck_ rang out, followed by a loud thud as if something had been dropped. Startling them both so bad, Dean nearly rolled out of the bed as Sam nearly tripped and fell into the table. His panicked gaze hit Dean, and he realized how reckless they'd been. Dad was less then five feet away, separated by thin plaster and no place for either of them to run to and get cleaned up.

Making a quick decision, he lifted up the blankets and motioned for Sam to get into the bed. They'd just have to wait for Dad to fall asleep before either of them took a shower, or at the very least washed up a bit. It wasn't any worse than what they'd done, sharing a bed for the moment. They'd done it countless times, long before this whole mess had even started.

Sam look relieved as he climbed into the bed next to Dean, instantly curling up around his brother. Dean rested a hesitant hand on Sam's hip, grinning as Sam practically purred in approval. He curled his fingers around Sam's hip and dragged him closer. He dropped a kiss on Sam's shoulder and slowly made his way up to the juncture of his neck before biting sharply.

Sam gasped out beneath him and wrapped an arm around Dean's neck to bring him closer. Happy to oblige, he bit down sharply again, soothing the offending sting with a gentle lap of his tongue. Hazy and sated, he kept at it, biting and licking, his fingers digging sharply into Sam's hip until the bathroom door opened and steam poured out.

He dropped back down on the bed again, throwing his arm around Sam as if to protect him from Dad's gaze. They lay there, hearts pounding in their ears, so loud they would have sworn Dad knew everything, until he climbed into the empty bed across from theirs. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm his breathing and urging Sam to do the same with a stroke of his thumb over slender hips. Instead Sam jerked and gasped into Dean's neck.

Cursing himself, he shifted, hoping the sound of the bed creaking would detract from the sharpness of the sound in the empty room. Dad didn't seem to take notice because the next thing Dean knew, he was snoring soundly. He slowly opened his eyes, lifting up to check over Sam's still body to find Dad's back to them.

Letting out a sigh of relief he dropped back down on the bed. Forgetting what they'd just done, until Sam's fingers skimmed across his hips. The color drained from his face and for a moment Dean thought he might have a heart attack. All the distance he'd put between them, the cool comments and brush offs, and he'd come apart in one night. With one fucking session of fist fucking, he'd blown all his hard work.

He went to push Sam from the bed, herd him into the bathroom, whatever as long as they weren't naked and lying next to each other-oh, _God_, they were naked. How had he forgotten that?- when Sam's mouth found its way to his stomach. Tongue lapping up what evidence there was of what had just happened.

Teeth scraped gently over his abdomen, stopping at the cut of hips. He could feel the blood heading south with Sam's attentiveness, and quickly hauled him up for a kiss. Dean pulled back and nipped at his jaw, hoping that tonight would be easier to forget than they were in the morning light.

He tried to settle Sam down, wrap an arm around him and drift to sleep but Sam wasn't having any of it. His mouth closed around two of Dean's fingers, sucking hungrily at them. Dean groaned loudly, almost forgetting where they were at the sight.

Images of Sam between his legs, tongue wrapping around the tip of his cock and wicked grin in his brother's eyes flashed through his mind. He jerked his hand back, his mouth coming crashing down over Sam's in its place. He groaned lewdly into Dean's mouth and tangled their tongues together, letting Dean taste himself on Sam, desire flaring up in him all over again.

He pulled apart reluctantly, sliding his hand up the back of Sam's neck and into his hair. "Sleep, Sammy." If his brother kept it up, Dean was going to break completely and wind up fucking Sam through the mattress with Dad sleeping less than three feet away. And as badly as he wanted to feel Sam, that just wasn't happening. He valued their lives too much for that.

Sam seemed to deflate, as if he were turning Sam down again instead of protecting him. He lowered his mouth to Sam's ear, mouthing wetly at the sensitive skin behind it. "Can't now, baby," he purred. "Wanna make you scream."

Dean was startled by his confession, even more by the fact that nothing felt wrong anymore. That even the reminder of Stanford didn't make him ill or want to shove Sam away. Right now, all he really wanted, was to hear Sam scream.

Sam jerked beneath him and let out a muffled whimper, his hands curling around Dean's shoulders. He nodded his head vigorously in agreement and buried his face in Dean's neck. He laughed softly and wrapped his arm tighter around Sam's waist. Dean intended to make good on his promise the first chance he got, but for now they'd have to be content with just the warmth of each other's bodies.

It wasn't long before Sam began to drift off, Dean not far behind him. "Night, Sammy," Dean mumbled sleepily.

"Mmmm, night," he mumbled back, pressing a chaste kiss to Dean's shoulder.

Dean woke the next morning to Sam's body blanketing his. He grinned down at his younger brother and ran his fingertips along Sam's spine, grinning wider at the shiver that wracked his body. Sam curled tighter around him, his hand tangling in Dean's hair.

He dropped a kiss on Sam's shoulder, taking a second to breathe him in. It was crazy how easily Sam could break him, after weeks of silence or pushing and pulling, knowing that it was all for Sam, and still he couldn't stay away. Not even now, knowing Dad could be lying in the bed next to theirs, asleep or awake.

Dean raised up, glancing over to find the bed empty. He laid still for a moment, listening for any sounds from the bathroom, unwilling to risk being caught again when he was already on uneven ground. When he heard nothing, he dropped back down, content to lay there with Sam until his brother woke.

It wasn't long before Sam began to stir, lazily stretching his body out against Dean's. The skin to skin contact startled him, because he froze mid-stretch, eyes flying open. He seemed to relax for a moment, then panic flared in his features. Sam scrambled off the bed, nearly falling in his efforts.

Dean watched in confused amusement as Sam searched out his boxers, swearing colorfully when he couldn't find them. He slipped out of the bed, coming up behind Sam and wrapping his arms around his brother's waist. Dean liked him better without his boxers anyway. He nuzzled at Sam's neck, relieved to finally be able to hold Sam in his arms again without that nagging guilt, or reminder of Stanford.

They weren't getting anywhere with these games and one way or another Dean would convince Sam to take Stanford up on their offer, he still had some time before Sam graduated, a good six months at least. Why tear them apart anymore than he had to? It hadn't done any good the first time around.

"Dad's going to be back soon," Sam protested, shrugging Dean's hands off and turning to face him. "We shouldn't be playing these games, anyway," he added quietly. "You'll change your mind again and I can't deal with that."

"I miss it, us," Dean admitted, ignoring him. His eyes roamed Sam's body, the bruises on his hips, his neck, his shoulder. Swollen mouth and hazy eyes, looking all fucked out still before they'd even had their coffee.

"You," Sam hesitated as if it were all a joke. "You do?"

"I miss kissing you. Marking you," he emphasized with a sharp nip to Sam's jaw. "But mostly I miss your smile."

"Dean," Sam shook his head. "You don't have to do this."

Dean tilted his chin up, annoyed with Sam's self doubt. "You think I could give you up for some cheap fuck?" he asked disgustedly. "I don't know if I should be thankful you believe that in the first place or pissed because you couldn't see right through me."

"It wasn't some cheap fuck," Sam argued, obviously missing his point. "It was Emily, and you know that."

"Yeah," he agreed regretfully. "I do." He fingered the bruises on Sam's hips, remembering the way his fingers had dug in possessively with little provocation. "Only it wasn't."

"It wasn't what?" Sam asked in exasperation, his fingers already beginning to close over Dean's in an effort to put some space between them. The forceful Sam gone with the night, obviously regretting what had happened a hell of a lot more than Dean.

"A cheap fuck," he said, refusing to let Sam pull back now. Sam had pushed and pulled, worn Dean down with his silence, with his tears, and with every bit of attention he'd lavished Dean with last night, and he'd be damned if he let Sam take it all back now. "It wasn't any kind of fuck."

Sam stopped, his fingers tightening around Dean's but not trying to pry them off. "What?"

Dean took a deep breath, weighing his options again. Lying hadn't worked, pushing Sam away sure as hell hadn't worked, he was still there, still torturing Dean with every little innocent thing he did whether he knew it or not. Maybe the truth would work, maybe Sam would finally understand what Dean had done.

"I didn't," he finally admitted. "Sleep with Emily. Nothing happened."

Sam's hand dropped away all together, his face going pale. "I don't want to play games, Dean," Sam snapped sharply.

"I'm through playing games, that's why I'm telling you now," he said, grasping Sam's face firmly in his hands. "I never slept with Emily. You saw what I wanted you to see."

"Why?" Sam asked slowly. "Why would you want me to see that?" His voice rose on his last question, shoving Dean's hands away roughly. "Why would you want to hurt me like that?"

"I didn't," Dean said. "Want to hurt you, that wasn't the point."

"No? Then what was? Just wanted to see how much I'd do, how far I'd go to make a fool of myself when _you_ were the one out fucking someone else?" he accused. "See what I'd do to get you to start fucking me again?"

Dean took a step back at Sam's accusations, shocked that Sam could even think such a thing about him. Or about them. That was the last thing on Dean's mind, humiliating his brother, pushing him to see how badly Sam wanted him. There were other ways for Dean to know that, like the way he kissed Dean the second Dad disappeared, soft, slow. The grin that spread across his face when they pulled apart, tongue tracing Dean's bottom lip. That wasn't the kind of kiss you had with just anyone, and even if it was, there were other things that Sam did that took Dean's breath away and made him realize how lucky he was.

Like the way Sam's hand always seemed to slip into his when Dad wasn't around, no matter what they were doing. Or the way Sam curled against him at night, face nuzzled into Dean's neck as he mouthed his goodnight. Or what Dean loved best, the way Sam blushed when Dean called him baby, and his eyes never leaving Dean, no matter who walked by or what they said. Completely caught up in Dean and nothing else.

Dean teased him mercilessly about the way he could space out like that, but Dean loved it. Loved that Sam was that way because of him, because he called him baby. Something so simple and affectionate, something so unusual from Dean, at least when uttered in sincerity. He'd never once doubted Sam's love or the things his brother would do for him, or vice versa. The only doubts he'd ever had were about his deservingness of Sam, or just how much he could really give Sam when his brother deserved so much. His doubts were self doubts, and self doubts alone.

"I never," Dean said in disbelief. He slammed Sam back against the wall, boxing him in with his arms. "I _never _would hurt you over something so stupid, so fucking trivial. We were never about the fucking, Sam, or games. You think I'd risk everything for something I could get anywhere?"

"And do, apparently," Sam said in disgust.

Dean pounded the wall with his fist, refusing to take his anger out on Sam. "I haven't fucked anyone, but you!" he yelled. "I don't _want_ to fuck anyone but you. I wanted you to think I'd slept with Emily, because I wanted you to take that scholarship to Stanford. You deserve better, Sam," he sighed, his anger turning to exhaustion. "It was for your own good."

Sam's mouth dropped. "You knew about the scholarship?"

He rolled his eyes, if he knew about Stanford, why not the scholarship? So much for that college boy material. "I found the acceptance letter in the mail, Sam. That day you found me with Emily."

Sam eyed him warily. "You set me up?"

Dean nodded hesitantly, leaning back a bit in case a bit of Sam's temper flared up. He may not be as prone to violence as Dean, but it didn't mean that Sam's temper wasn't just as nasty, or his fist just as quick when it came down to it.

"Nothing happened?" he pushed.

"No," Dean insisted. "No, Sammy. I didn't touch her, I didn't even _kiss _her."

Sam's head dropped back against the wall, swallowing hard and closing his eyes. "You did all of this to make me leave? You want me to leave?"

"Yes. No," Dean amended quickly at the tears slipping down Sam's cheeks. "I, Sam," he sighed. "I want more for you, I want you to have Stanford because it's what you want and because it can give you the things you deserve. But that doesn't mean I don't want you with me. It was never about that."

Sam lifted his hand, resting it against Dean's chest and for a second he thought that maybe it was over. He could start packing Sam's bags and leave him in Palo Alto, at Stanford's door with an honest to God, kiss goodbye. Only Sam didn't seem to feel that way. He shoved Dean back furiously.

"You asshole!" he yelled, pushing away from the wall. "You let me think that all this time for- you let me think I didn't mean anything to you, that I wasn't fucking worth anything to get me to go to Stanford, instead of just telling me you wanted me to go?" Sam was spitting mad, his jaw and fists clenched as he advanced on Dean.

"You should have just told me! Talked to me! Did you think even once that maybe you didn't know everything Dean, or what was best for me?" He demanded. "Because I'm a big boy, Dean. I can think for myself. Make my own decisions and decide just what the hell I want."

He didn't stop moving until he had Dean backed up against the opposite wall, staring back warily. Sam's eyes softened as his hands came up to rest beside Dean's face, his features relaxing. "And I want you. Think you can remember that the next time you think of fucking someone else?"

"I didn't fuck her!" Dean protested. "Didn't even-"

"Are you going to?" Sam asked, cutting him off.

"Am I going to what?"

"Fuck her," Sam said. "Or anyone else? Do you want to?"

"God, Sam," Dean breathed. "No. I would never. I was only-"

"Promise me," he interrupted again, a hand coming to rest on Dean's cheek. "Promise me, I'm it. That you'll-"

"Never," Dean swore. "You're it, Sammy. You always have been." He fisted his hands in Sam's shirt and crushed their mouths together, missing the taste of his brother. "But that doesn't change the fact that you have to go," he said as they pulled apart.

Sam shook his head. "No, I'm not going."

"Sammy," Dean growled. "This isn't up for discussion."

"What?" Sam snorted. "You going to make me go?"

"If I have to." Sam was going to Stanford if Dean had tie him up and drive him there himself. There was no negotiating on this one. Sam _was going._

"No," Sam disagreed again. "I'm not going. Not without you."

Dean's mouth opened, ready to bully and threaten Sam until he gave in, when Sam's words caught up to him. His mind only hearing _'no'_ in the beginning.

"Wait," he said, shaking his head. "What?"

Sam laughed. "I told you that night, I wasn't going to leave without you. I meant it."

A grin spread across Dean's face, his pent up wicked thoughts from the past month replaying through his mind-this time in a college dorm. He could do California, Stanford, stuck up college kids that would probably make him feel like an idiot most of the time, because he had Sam. And he knew for a fact that Sam was smarter than them all. Sex on legs like no one else and more dangerous than any of them would ever know.

Those kids may be smarter, have their college education and their money, but they wouldn't have Sam, and Sam was worth all that and more.

"Yeah," he grinned wider. "I think I can handle that."


End file.
